


Why We Grow Thorns

by Texas_not_Tex



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Philia vs Eros! FIGHT TO THE DEATH, Plato's LYSIS, Plato's Symposium, Unrequieted - Freeform, and the rating's gone up, greek philosophy??, some autobiographical elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 06:10:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12184449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Texas_not_Tex/pseuds/Texas_not_Tex
Summary: Kiyotaka contemplates some strange feelings he's been having, an reflects on love, life, friendship, cause and effect.Basically, I take a my favorite character and have him explain why shit's cray





	1. Begin

Your name is Kiyotaka Ishimaru, and you find yourself in a bit of a situation.

It isn’t the kind of thing that would normally bother you. Normally, you find yourself far too concerned with classwork and studying to have any room for…this. But Killing School Life isn’t exactly ordinary, after all. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s the pressure of being cooped up like this, with unpredictable dangers poised to strike at any second, the stress of not having a single class to report to or project to complete besides the frantic scramble of your own survival. Maybe…

…You realize you are avoiding the point.  
It doesn’t matter what caused it, you’re here now, and now that you’ve realized it, it’s too late to turn the knowledge off and pretend that you’re not… you’re not infatuated with one of the only close friends you’ve ever had. Makoto Naegi.  
You can count on one hand the number of people in your life besides family who you consider friends, and three of them are here with you at Hope’s Peak. Friendship is not something that comes easily to you. As long as you can remember, that’s how it’s been, and you’ve told yourself that it’s fine like that. Fewer attachments mean more time to pursue goals, or so you thought. The nagging feeling that this is incorrect is just something to be pushed aside and ignored.  
But Makoto keeps tugging at that thread of doubt, pulling your mind astray, casually disrupting your personal balance in a way that makes you both terrified and excited. It’s like…  
When you’re with him, you can almost see that “something” you’ve been missing. The pleasure of companionship, the satisfaction of casual intimacy, and a cornucopia of other sensations you’re finding incredibly difficult to define or even think about clearly.

Incredibly, it was him that sought you out. You’re not one to suggest frivolous bouts of companionship, and rarely invite others to share your company unless it’s for their own good (You like to think you’re a helpful tutor, though you haven’t had many satisfied pupils). But Makoto came to you and suggested you hang out together as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Even more surprising: he has continued to do so. Multiple times.  
It’s not that people haven’t approached you for social purposes before. You have had a few acquaintances who keep your company from time to time at school, and it’s pleasant enough, though you’re not completely sure what the purpose is, and it’s never been truly stimulating or enjoyable. Not like this, anyway. This is….vibrant.

He talks to you about mundane things, about himself, about what he likes to do, and you like to listen. He is an effortless subject of study. The little facts he gives you about this or that are breathlessly easy to remember, sticking in your mind easier than any study guide has ever done. You find yourself genuinely looking forward to talking to him. And you even find yourself talking back about more than just academic theory. You’re generally extremely conscientious about letting anything too personal slip, as such discussions tend to be distasteful and unnecessary, but your mouth just doesn’t seem to be as cautious around him. You want to share your own story with him, and you don’t know why.

After another impromptu meeting with him today, you find yourself disoriented and a little nauseous. You kept noticing how charming his smile was, or his laugh. You’re sure you overcompensated for your nervousness and acted even stranger than usual, in an effort to maintain normalcy. You just…couldn’t quite remember what normalcy looked like right now.  
So, in an effort to clear your head, you’ve retreated to your room, and are pacing slowly as you try and fathom what is going on in your brain and how exactly you can stop it.


	2. Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ishimaru's past (I take some serious liberties with the canon).
> 
> People don't always spell out the "why" when they stop kissing you, sometimes you have to assume that you ought to already know.

You review the facts, trying to be objective.   
These feelings are most definitely centered on your interactions with Makoto. They’re not entirely bad, but you do find yourself feeling oddly queasy around him lately, which is disconcerting. Perhaps you’ve contracted some sort of illness? No, that’s not right.  
Another theory: perhaps what you’re feeling is just the growing pains of a new friendship. You’re inexperienced with this kind of thing, after all, that could be it. You’re just worried about making a good impression, because you value him as a fellow student.

Oh, darn it, it’s not that either. Your friendship with Mondo never had anything like this happen along the short path of its development, and you’re certain you’ve forged a bond with him that’s about as solid as rock. Talking with him is easy. An exception to your non-disclosure rule, you’ve told him all about your past, and he’s in turn shared his. But that’s…that’s different. Of course you did. You’re brothers, it’s what brothers do.   
With Makoto, it feels like gravity is suddenly attracting not just your body, but your words. Your admissions have more weight. What if he doesn’t approve? You’re not sure what you’d do if you made a slip, and suddenly, he no longer thought you worthy of his time. You’re sure he’s not the kind of person to ever do such a thing to you, but… 

…you’re terrified of it.

Looks like that theory doesn’t hold its weight either. That leaves you with one more possibility.  
You hesitate to think of it, but you know that there was another time when you felt this way. With a dissatisfied grunt, you glare at the floor and resolve to get the distasteful remembrances over with.

It was couple of years ago, at your old high school. It seems like much longer than it actually was. You had a…friend. A boy your age, who seemed to take a liking to you. You found yourself engaging in social activities for the first time in your life thanks to him. Being near him made you feel energized and bright in a way you never had before, and you realized that before long, you had fallen for him.  
It scared you terribly.  
Here he was, the first person you ever had held close to your heart, had ever valued in such a way. He was the stars, in your eyes. You suddenly felt like you had more hope in your chest than you could bear, like you could see the world unfold around you, paths open and infinite.   
And all you could think is how easy it would be to lose it all.  
That fear matched the sharpness of your passion inch for inch, but you were brave, you are brave, and you persevered. Despite the potent knowledge of the depth of your gamble, you went ahead and confessed stumblingly after school one day, asking if he would do you the honor of being your boyfriend, please, if he’d like.   
He said yes, and he smiled, and his presence was so warm.  
This resulted in your first kiss. You kissed him, not the other way around. A dry touch of lips first on his cheek, then his lips, only lingering briefly before drawing back so you could look into his eyes and share the moment. 

…You don’t like thinking about the rest of it very much.  
You can’t think of a more poignant example of personal failure in your life than that relationship. Every effort you’ve made to figure out where you went wrong ends in frustration. He left you bitter, adrift, and you know it’s your fault, it must be; you are always too focused on yourself, too emotionally inept to satisfy any kind of lover (though you never took anything from him but a handful of dry kisses).  
That was the only semester you had to struggle to keep your perfect grades. You did it—of course, you wouldn’t be the Ultimate anything if you couldn’t do that.   
The memory or failure, of loss, still stings upon your spotless record like a wound. But it’s been long enough. You’ve left it behind. You tell yourself that the memories only to serve as a tool and a lesson, so that you won’t make such a mistake again. Avoiding the situation has worked fine up until now, and you’re proud of your erudite professionality.   
And yet, here you are. You feel like you’re right back where you were back then, not a thing you’ve learned to make this any more of a success.   
Perhaps you’re a bit less afraid this time. You weren’t caught unaware, so you were able to protect yourself, at the very least. But there was something insidious about the creeping warm sensation that filled your veins when you thought of your time with Makoto, something that made you reckless. You’d have to be extra careful, that was for sure.

For his sake and yours. Friendship was one thing. You knew for sure that anything beyond that would only make this situation worse, and was in no way worth the difficulty.   
Now that you had identified the problem accurately, you were sure you could handle it. You were older, stronger, and smarter, surely some aspect of your studies had prepared you for this!

“Makoto Naegi is a good friend, and nothing more. Understood!”   
You say this to yourself in the isolation of your room, to yourself, so that you won’t forget. You nod sharply. That’s it, then. 

Any niggling doubt or disappointment is sharply shoved aside as you march out of your room to continue your day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note about Ishimaru blaming himself for the fouled relationship:  
> this doesn't imply that he was or was not to blame. He just doesn't know, and has to assume responsibility.
> 
> ...the past isn't an excuse, though.


	3. Self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yep, this one's just porn.
> 
> And it's not proofread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...But it's also much more!
> 
> And just to be clear: the last two chapters contained some autobiographical information altered slightly to fit the context, but this chapter has the same connection to my reality that anything I write does. That is, all writing is born from the author's experiences, but not all information is about those experiences, and much or all is fabricated based off of assumptions, pure fiction and random thoughts.  
> Am I pretentious yet? Please shoot me.
> 
> TL;DR THIS IS FICTION LMAO

No, that didn’t work at all. If anything, today was worse. You’re pretty sure you visibly blushed at least once, and some twisted part of your mind decided it was perfectly acceptable for your traitorous eyes to wander over Makoto’s body as he passed in the hall, and to note what a handsome shape he was beneath the folds of his trousers and coat. You immediately stopped once you realized what you were doing, and stared straight ahead, but the damage was done.  
That damned (dratted, you correct yourself vehemently) bath together had been a mistake. You had honestly had fully innocent intentions of manly bonding, but now your memories of his naked skin and your swirling feelings were now meshing in a most uncomfortable way.   
You decided to retire to your rooms early. Maybe some solid rest would wipe any indecent thoughts you were having. Because that’s EXACTLY what they were—Indecent, unacceptable, improprietous, and disrespectful. You shudder to think what Makoto himself would say were he to know how you were thinking of him right now. You’re disgusted.   
You’re also terribly intrigued.  
Even at your mind’s protest, your traitorous thoughts turn erotic, and you squirm, struggling to dispel them. But the more you try to think of something else—well.  
So you sigh, and sit down, carefully avoiding any position that would put pressure on your currently sensitive lap. If you could not dispel these thoughts by willpower alone, you would have to destroy them by thinking it through and finding their fallacies. Logic had never let you down before!

Contrary to popular belief, you were not, in fact, a prude. Knowledge and acceptance of human sexuality were incredibly important to understanding a variety of topics. That’s not to say you are…well, experienced in the matter, but you’ve done your reading. Sex and even masturbation were a perfectly normal, healthy part of the human experience. You had no problem with either of them. Still, your moral standards were very high, and while you recognized the existence of such things, any public indecency (including casual conversation about such topics) was simply unacceptable unless it was in an educational context. Besides, you and everyone here was still barely of age. Exploration of the self was one thing, but any fraternization was simply unacceptable. You were all far too young to be engaging in such irresponsibly adult behavior. It would be inappropriate to even think of another student in this light, much less a friend…

…and your mind fluidly transitions into immoral curiosity.   
You wonder, feeling your face heat, if Makoto had ever kissed anyone, or touched anyone, or if he…if he touched himself. It’s almost impossible that he didn’t engage in the latter at least once in a while, right? People your age, girls included, were all affected by the body’s hormonal whims. He must give in sometimes, mustn’t he?  
Your breath stuttered as you helplessly imagined your friend in his own room, pleasuring himself, making filthy noises. You let out a whimper. 

And you shake your head violently. No! No, absolutely not, don’t think about that. Dispel that thought. You’re feeling disoriented and distracted. It only took a second and your focus was shaken. You twitch, noticing the aching discomfort between your thighs has only gotten worse. Damn it. (You let that mental swear slide. This situation deserves it.)  
All right, there’s no way you are going to have a rational thought process with your body pushing this hard for relief. Perhaps it was best to just deal with the inconvenience first, and then sort it all out afterwards.  
Though this was, objectively speaking, one of the absolute worst possible places to be this aroused. You look over your shoulder, noting the presence of the camera in your room. You had no way of knowing if anyone was actually watching it, of course, but you’d be mortified if there was. This whole school (if that is what it can be called) seems to be designed to constantly remind students that they had no privacy. Well…in light of your current state, you’ll just have to preserve your modesty as best you can, and go ahead.

You retrieve a damp towel from the bathroom and return, sliding down awkwardly next to your bed so that the only view of you the camera has is the back of your head and your shoulders. Untucking your neatly-made bed from behind you, you cover those last parts of yourself. It looks and feels completely ridiculous—an unstable blanket fort, poorly covering up your furtive moves. Still, it’s better than letting whoever it is behind the camera get even a partial peep show.   
After waiting a moment to ensure Monokuma isn’t going to pop up and ruin the moment, you begin to disrobe. It’s terribly inconvenient to do this in a sitting position, but you certainly aren’t going to stand up and do it or eschew the action entirely. The stains that you could incur if your uniform were left on would be a hassle you really don’t want. You move quickly but efficiently, folding the discarded garments neatly and pushing them and your boots to the side.

And here you are.  
It’s just you, but you’re blushing nervously like you did the first time you tried this. You know most people don’t do this kind of thing entirely in the nude as you do, but you prefer it this way. Your relationship to your body is clear and direct. Every action you take causes an obvious reaction, and creates an effective feedback loop of pleasure that usually takes care of itself. You rarely, if ever, think of anything (or anyone) in specific while doing this. The action of pleasuring yourself has been entirely personal and insulated. Sometimes you wonder if it counts as a form of narcissism…but, you’re not getting off to yourself, you’re getting off to the idea of getting off. Or something.   
This time, however, you have to force images of Makoto Naegi from your conscious mind.

You spit in your hand delicately and run the slick fluid along the length of your cock. You’d gotten a bit soft again while you prepared, but you take your time now; closing your eyes and breathing into the sensation of touch. You caress everywhere, feeling your familiar skin. Your inner thighs, the soft pucker of your anus, your perineum, your balls, the growing hardness of your penis. You lose time in stroking yourself for a moment. It’s good, and you have to bite your lip to remind yourself to stay quiet. The room may be soundproof, but who knows how closely that camera is listening?   
Still. You continue, breath hot on your lips. You focus on every sensation that comes to you. The flickering arousal each stroke creates makes your heartbeat strong in your head. Your thoughts flicker, flitting about from the present to the impossible, lighting upon glimpses of fantasy you weakly try to bury.  
What if he was there, watching you do this to yourself. What if he liked it? Or if your hand on your cock was his hand, and he was watching you as he pulled you apart? You let slip a desperate moan. The idea of Makoto seeing you like this—right now—it was intoxicating. You spat again in your hand, jerking yourself harder and feeling your pulse through your fingers.   
Refocusing hazily, you listened to the heady, wet sound of your hand moving over yourself. Your free hand clutched at your thigh as your grew closer to the end of it, short fingernails biting into flesh in spasms of pleasure.  
The smell of your arousal is around you, and you wonder briefly if his is different. You want to know. Please…you whisper to yourself, and you’re coming. Your free hand flies to your mouth to cover a choked cry. 

Back still arched and eyes still squeezed shut from the moment, you slowly begin to breathe again. Well. Avoiding promiscuous thoughts of your friend didn’t work out so perfectly, but you think you’re feeling a bit better now. You managed to catch some of the mess in your hand, so you wipe yourself off, careful to be gentle on your still-sensitive parts. Folding the damp towel dirty-side-in, you put it aside and draw your knees up close to your chest thoughtfully. You’re… really pretty ashamed that you let your thoughts get the better of you. A tear prickles at your eye, and you ignore it. It would be pretty pathetic, even for you, to cry after masturbating.

You…do anyway, though. Just a little bit.

You dress again (still seated) and put your room back in order, rinsing the soiled towel and re-tucking your bed. Your meager tears stopped while you followed the rhythm of orderliness. Taking a deep breath, and beginning to pace again as you did yesterday, you resolve to thwart this terrible attraction here and now that you have a clear mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where the second-person perspective gets awkward to read. It forces you to get up close and very personal with Ishimaru's actions in this chapter, which are undeniably very sexual. This has a double purpose: One, it highlights the personal intimacy he is creating by himself, and that everyone can experience by being aware of their body (not just in this context).   
> Two, it might make you kind of uncomfortable. It makes ME uncomfortable. It makes the reader join the moment of intimacy themselves, making a unique interaction between you and the protag. It's fabricated, artificial, but it hopefully gives that sense of... unease that real life connection evokes. 
> 
> At least that's what I was going for.  
> more angst ahoy


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouch, bruh!  
> Inspired by crying in the shower.

The fact that you’re crying takes you by surprise.  
The imaginary Makoto, the one you furtively got off the idea of just moments before, is suddenly terrifyingly transparent. The image you’d conjured, it’s nothing like him. He wouldn’t…the real Makoto, you know, would never act like that around you, never touch you like that. The visceral, selfish despair of that knowledge hits you harder than you could have imagined.  
You pause, standing in the bathroom, avoiding the mirror. You press against the wall and feel your insides curl up. Just for a second… you really let yourself imagine what it is you want.  
You want…

You want someone to love you too.

Not the love of a father or a brother. You want someone to look at you like you look at Makoto right now. It’s unrealistic to expect that it could ever actually be him, of course—no matter how much you want that (and you realize you really do) you’re both awfully young and there’s no way YOU could ever be a good enough boyfriend for someone like that. Not now, anyway. Maybe if you learned how or had more time or…or something.  
But your throat tightens and you imagine the impossible scenario in which he tells you that you are beautiful, praiseworthy, and special to him, and you imagine that in that scenario, you believe him.  
How selfish is this?  
You’re sick of yourself, and you choke.  
You can’t make someone love you.  
But you…  
You can’t help but feel that you’re tired of waiting. You tried with the boy in your old high school and the failure is still bitter. You know that you’d fail again.  
You want to try, but to risk something—someone as precious as your close friend to a selfish desire to be loved and to learn how to love?  
It isn’t a risk you should take, and you know that.  
You know that.

So you straighten up and force yourself to breathe, and resume the rhythm of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this sounds like a big ol' pity party, right?  
> But really, you do have to be realistic. Even if you are tired of being alone.


	5. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one.   
> Don't you think that maybe "love" is some sort of limitless energy?  
> It can't be bottled up, it must be acknowledged and accepted.

Sufficiently calmed by your indulgence, you take stock of your mind and heart. You feel your pulse still beating strongly in your chest, and with it, a familiar sensation of… what?  
It’s difficult to identify, but you feel it’s vital to examine all of this clearly. The feeling in your chest is…

Slightly painful. As cliché as it sounds, it’s most accurate to liken it to an ache. Your eyes prickle again as you examine it. Despite the discomfort, the feeling is not all bad. It’s also very warm (kind of like a hand-warmer, the kind you’d keep in your pocket at winter). You stop pacing for a second, and just breathe; holding still and noticing how it flows around your body from your chest, catching little sparks all over you and making your face warm. You tentatively call a casual memory of Makoto to your memory. 

The effect is immediate—your heart rate increases minutely, and the physical sensation of an “ache” becomes sharper. A mix of unusual thoughts and feelings come to mind and you find it impossible to process them with any sort of logic. The lack of his presence is suddenly quite noticeable, and you feel the strong urge to seek him out, though you don’t have a particular purpose for doing so. You also feel the urge to protect him—though you’re not quite sure from what. Monokuma? The others? Yourself?

This feeling…  
It can’t possibly be anything like love.   
You’re not sure you know what love would feel like, you’re sure you’re not capable of acting on it in a proper manner even if you did. Textbooks, volunteer work, orderliness, those were your forte. It’s all just a mess in here.  
Besides, now that you think about it, it was stupid to try and get an accurate read on your emotional state right after masturbating. Orgasm releases serotonin, right? Maybe this is all just a result of some errant hormones. But…no, that wouldn’t account for what lead you to this situation in the first place, or the feelings you’ve been having around your friend for the past several days. (Or is it weeks now? You can’t tell.)

There’s absolutely no way you’re in anything like love with Makoto Naegi.

Except….

You really, really, really are.

_Gosh dang it._


End file.
